


pumpkin spice and everything nice

by chidorinnn



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Reality, Dreams, Food as a Metaphor for Love, M/M, a very ham-fisted metaphor orchestrated by someone we all know and love!!, the pumpkin spice is a lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27313771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chidorinnn/pseuds/chidorinnn
Summary: Goro notices it belatedly, when he's already halfway through the mug — an underlying flavor that adds a little bit of extrasomethingto his otherwise regular order. It's something he'd expect from other cafes in busier, more heavily populated areas than Yongen, but not from Leblanc.He smiles pleasantly as he tries another sip; now, the pumpkin is all he can taste. Akira's watching him from where he stands behind the counter, eyes crinkling in a poor attempt to suppress a smile. If it were anyone else, Goro would be either worrying for his life or advancing on the one who put him in this position — but this is Akira, and Goro knows better than to take things that are supposedly given to him freely, at face value. He's lucky that it's pumpkin that lingers underneath the bitterness of the coffee, and not almonds.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69
Collections: 21 plus server halloween event





	pumpkin spice and everything nice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ciasquare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciasquare/gifts).



> Happy Halloween! Hope you enjoy this timey-wimey jumble of questionable alternate realities and even more questionable reactions to them :D 
> 
> (and I pinky promise: though Goro talks a lot of shit about pumpkin spice lattes, I do enjoy them very much irl)

There's pumpkin in his coffee.

Goro notices it belatedly, when he's already halfway through the mug — an underlying flavor that adds a little bit of extra _something_ to his otherwise regular order. It's something he'd expect from other cafes in busier, more heavily populated areas than Yongen, but not from Leblanc.

He smiles pleasantly as he tries another sip; now, the pumpkin is all he can taste. Akira's watching him from where he stands behind the counter, eyes crinkling in a poor attempt to suppress a smile. If it were anyone else, Goro would be either worrying for his life or advancing on the one who put him in this position, ready to go down swinging — but this is Akira, and Goro knows better than to take things that are supposedly given to him freely, at face value. He's lucky that it's pumpkin that lingers underneath the bitterness of the coffee, and not almonds.

He sighs, wearily. "Well, you certainly seem pleased with yourself."

Akira chuckles, a soft smile enveloping his features. It leaves Goro feeling dangerously unsteady, something splintering apart within him. "Not a fan of pumpkin spice?"

Goro tries another sip, and — nope, still pumpkin. There's too much of it, he realizes — it clashes horribly with the coffee, two distinct flavors battling for dominance instead of meshing together as they supposedly should. On top of that, it's cloying, unbearably sweet. "There's supposed to be _spice_?"

Akira hums, his grin evaporating. "Looks like I under-seasoned it, then."

The smile doesn't return. Goro tries, but he can't ignore the guilt that blooms from that — so he concedes: "It was a valiant effort, regardless."

And what he doesn't tell Akira is: this is not the first time he's had this drink. The first time he'd tried a pumpkin spice latte, he'd been sixteen. A stern-looking man in a dark suit had brought him to a cafe somewhere in Akihabara, handed him a small handful of yen, and told him to be good while he took care of some business that Goro, in all of his competence and higher connections, was not to be trusted with.

As the man left to join another, equally stern and stuffy-looking, Goro was left to look at the menu and ponder his order. He wondered just what it was about pumpkin that was so appealing at this time of year — pumpkin curries, flavored snacks, add-ons to meals that had no place for it in their base form. The thought of combining it with coffee, of all things, was equal parts intriguing and revolting.

... well, he wasn't going to be the one paying for it, at any rate — so he ordered it and billed it to the stern-looking man in the dark suit. It was cloying, unbearably sweet, with far too much cream — all pumpkin, with an undercurrent of coffee and almost no spice to speak of, and more dessert than drink, but crafted in such a way that he wondered if it was an intentional choice after all, to blur the line between the two.

—but in hindsight, Akira's attempt at it is far better. Leblanc is a far cry from that cafe in the hustle and bustle of Akihabara, and there are no stern-looking men in dark suits to speak of. It's comfortable here, in a way that nothing else has ever been for him.

There's a certain gleam to Akira's eyes, as he tilts his head to the side and frowns questioningly at him, and — Goro's head hurts. The cloying sweetness of the latte turns his stomach, just enough that he needs to set the mug down. Everything, all of a sudden, is _too much_ , _too close_ — a contradiction that leaves Goro in the middle of it all, buffeted by reality swirling around him, but simultaneously detached from his body.

Akira sighs, though Goro can barely hear it past the static in his ears. "No good?"

Akira looks downright despondent, and somehow it's _that_ that cuts through the static. It's enough for Goro to remember to compose himself — that it might just be Akira, but that makes it all the more important that he not slip up here.

He flashes him a smile, all sparkles and teeth. "You'll get it right next time."

* * *

Mementos is a swirling cesspool, but it's made better with the servings of coffee and curry that Akira always seems to have on him, no matter the circumstances.

Goro sits in the back of the not-a-cat-turned-bus, sandwiched between Skull and Oracle. Skull sulks about having to sit this far back, but there's little to do when Fox always gets to sit in the front lest they all want to risk a bout of carsickness, and Panther had put her foot down, resolutely reminding everyone that she had been the one pushed to the back the previous time they came here. They're here for odd jobs and random missions that don't require storming a palace — and Mementos will always be a cesspool, but it's a tolerable one with company.

They're here because the Palace they've been tasked with dismantling is too much for them, right now — they're too weak to withstand any of the Shadows that prowl it, and so they must strengthen themselves here before it is too late.

"Ugh," Oracle grumbles, and all but thrusts the thermos she's holding in Goro's face. "He added pumpkin again."

"What makes you think that _I_ want it?" Goro retorts — which is a goddamn lie, because there's no way he's turning it down if it's being offered. The argument falls flat when he takes the thermos anyway.

It's... "stale" isn't the right word, but there's that undercurrent of something _old_ that implies that far too much time has passed since the drink was made. The flavors are all more pronounced with how long they've marinated together — pumpkin, clashing against coffee, clashing against cinnamon and cloves and ginger and nutmeg. It's not as sweet as he remembers it being the last time, thankfully, but the spices are overwhelmingly grainy, not mixing well at all with the rest of the drink.

“Your last attempt was better, Joker,” Goro quips, with only the faintest hint of disgust.

“That’s what I said!” says Oracle. “Seriously, just pick a recipe and stick with it. It’s not like you’re going to _sell_ it or anything.”

If anyone feared their illustrious leader, the illusion would be shattered instantly, with the gravity of his pout. “You’re no fun,” he all but whines, and it doesn’t entirely matter then, whether it’s targeted at Goro or Oracle.

“Are you using fresh pumpkin, Joker?” asks Noir.

“Nah, puréed,” Akira answers.

“It comes in a can and _everything_ ,” says Oracle.

“Wow, way to expose him,” says Panther, dryly.

“You got a problem with cans?” asks Skull, a rough edge to his voice that, Goro knows from experience, will go nowhere.

“Whatever is the problem with that?” asks Fox, far too genuine for his own good. “It’s an inexpensive, practical way to store and preserve food.”

“Fresh pumpkin is better, of course,” says Noir, “but maybe a little impractical, if you’re not planning on using the _whole_ pumpkin right away.”

“So if you use it in coffee,” says Queen, “and then within a few days, you use it in... I don’t know. Curry? Tarts? Then it should be worth the purchase.”

“Oh!” says Noir. “I once had this lovely pasta dish that had pumpkin in it.”

“Pumpkin sushi!” Mona’s voice echoes through the bus. “Joker, let’s try to make that!”

“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard,” says Skull, grimacing.

“Well, that’s too bad that your palette isn’t refined enough to appreciate the complex intermingling of flavors such as—“

“Oh, pumpkin crepes!” Panther interjects. “I’ve been seeing those _everywhere_ these days.”

“What is it with you people and pumpkin?” Goro grumbles quietly, and tries another sip of the coffee, and—nope, still grainy.

... grainy — just like the faint hint of static that blankets everything in a low, hazy buzz.

He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose — and nobody should notice because nobody here should _care_ to notice, but Skull taps him on the shoulder anyway and asks, “You good, man?”

—and Mementos is an awful, swirling cesspool. Can anyone really be “good” in a place like this?

“It’s flu season, isn’t it?” quips Oracle. “It makes sense. Mementos is all screwy today.”

—but that can’t be right, can it? Mementos hardly looks different than it usually does.

(But the logical conclusion to that is: it's _him_ that's the problem.)

Akira peers at him the rear view mirror and—great. Now everyone's watching him. "I'm _fine_ ," he says forcefully. "Really, there's no need to stop on my account."

But then the bus screeches to a halt anyway, to three Fafnir blocking their path and towering before them. "Sorry," says Akira, sheepishly. "Looks like we have company."

Queen, Noir, and Skull jump in immediately. Oracle jumps back and starts shouting orders. Panther and Fox watch warily from the sidelines, ready to jump in at a moment's notice.

Amidst it all, Akira watches Goro closely. "Are you okay to help?" he asks, and Goro hates how easy it would be to just answer _no_. Akira will be okay with that answer; he won't give him shit for it.

"But of course," Goro answers anyway, and rips off his mask.

* * *

The thing is, Goro doesn't really _hate_ pumpkin. It's just not one of his favorite things.

On a surface level, he gets why it's everywhere at this time of year — it's Halloween, a time when everyone uses the holiday as an excuse to dress up, to cosplay, to attend costume parties. Pumpkin-spice- _everything_ is just a logical extension of that — something inherently Western, imported into this collective tradition from the same celebration where it was born. There's a reason, after all, why Pyro Jack's head is distinctly pumpkin-shaped, amidst his fellow Jack brothers.

But there are other delightful seasonal flavors, though arguably none that reach quite the same level of notoriety as pumpkin — peppermint is much better, despite it being more of a winter flavor. As far as autumn flavors go, salted caramel works _beautifully_ ; it's a shame it's not quite as ubiquitous as pumpkin.

He tells Akira as much one day, at Penguin Sniper. Akira leans over the pool table, carefully lining up his shot — and Goro notes, somewhat bemusedly, that he's come a long way since the first time they came here. "Then I'll do my best," says Akira, as the balls on the table scatter. "Salted caramel... isn't that just... caramel and salt mixed together?"

Goro lines up his shot, and knocks two striped balls into a hole. "I think the type of salt matters."

"Oh yeah, of course," says Akira, lining up another shot. "It's subtle, but it makes a difference." He shoots, and the cue ball ricochets cleanly off the side of the table in an angle that sends one solid-colored ball into the nearest hole.

He has to have practiced a lot, to have gotten so much better — and for what? For Goro? What a foolish thing to do, for the illustrious leader of the Phantom Thieves; it's no secret that he budgets his time carefully, weighs the benefits of interacting with each person that he calls a friend and confidant, extracts the most of what can be helpful to his exploits as a Phantom Thief and very little more, even as said friends and confidants fall over themselves to endear themselves to him.

( _Endear_ , he notes, but never _support_. What have _they_ ever done for Akira besides just taking, and taking, and taking?)

"You've gotten good at this," says Goro anyway. If it should concern him that the words are easy to slip out, that he doesn't take as much time to filter them as he probably should, then he refuses to dwell on it.

Akira laughs — a light, airy sound. "That's quite the compliment, coming from you."

It takes effort to suppress a chuckle of his own. "Merely an observation," says Goro, lightly.

This, he knows, is what _normalcy_ is supposed to feel like — a free moment where they don't have to worry about Palaces or Shadows or Phantom Thief business. The evils of the world are a world away, a problem for tomorrow.

—not that it's going to stop Akira from worrying about those problems anyway. And then Goro will worry about Akira, worrying about those problems, and then the truth will become clear: they don't have the time to put off these problems for even a short while.

—but if nothing else, he likes coming here with Akira. It's quiet; it gives him space to think. It's hard, because there was once a time when that was very much not the case, so there are some old habits he has yet to break: remaining on his guard, despite all evidence that there is nothing here that poses a danger to him, is perhaps the strongest one.

For a while, they talk about everything and nothing. Philosophy. Politics. Literature. Anthropology. This, Goro has come to learn over the past handful of months, is expected. They don't get to do this often, but it's the closest to a routine he's ever had, with someone else. (He very resolutely does not think about the _other_ routine he once had.)

They get bored of billiards quickly, but it's still early when they leave Penguin Sniper — so they go to a cafe and order drinks. Pumpkin spice, of course.

Akira smiles, softly. "This is nice," he says. It's a bit useless to voice it aloud, because there's nothing at all controversial about the statement — and yet, something pleasantly warm blossoms within Goro's gut, at the confirmation that this is just as enjoyable for Akira as it is for him. "I... should apologize. I haven't been all there, as of late. That Palace is... it's a lot."

"I won't lie to you," Goro retorts. "It's been difficult to get it off my mind as well."

"We started so late," says Akira, despondently.

"Better than starting unprepared."

"I know that, but still."

—they don't talk about the person whose heart they're trying to change. They don't talk about what it means for the real world, that that person has been able to continue like this for so long that a forced change of heart is necessary.

(... does he even remember who that person is?)

"You know," says Akira, laughing, "after all that fuss you made about how salted caramel is the _superior autumn flavor_ , I can't believe you still ordered pumpkin spice."

Goro smiles down at the latte, cupped warmly in his hands. This one is more coffee than pumpkin spice, the supporting flavors muted until they're just barely noticeable. It's not too sweet, or grainy from an overload of spice — and it's probably not the most popular version of this drink, but he can't bring himself to care.

"It's your little pet project, isn't it?" Goro retorts. "If you're going to insist on using me as your test subject, then it's only logical that I properly inform myself of the range and depth of both pumpkin and its corresponding spices."

Akira outright laughs at that. "Nerd."

Goro grins. " _You're_ the nerd. Who is it that's trying to come up with his own formula for pumpkin spice lattes, instead of following any of the _countless_ recipes already out there?"

"It's about the proper ratios!" says Akira. "How much pumpkin, versus how much spice, how much sugar—"

"No sugar. It's sweet enough on its own."

"To _you_ , maybe." But there's no bite to his words, and Akira smiles at that, just a little. "Okay, okay," he says. "No sugar."

Akira's voice is a quiet, airy thing — a quiet hum that seems to hold Goro in place. It's not that he particularly wants to fight against it, necessarily, but it's dangerous that _that's_ the hold it has on him.

There are worse things to worry about, though: the Palace. The fact that they have a much narrower window of time to deal with it, because of the extra steps they had to take to prepare themselves for it.

... the fact that no matter how hard he thinks on it, Goro can't remember the name or keywords associated with the Palace — and the fact that he can no longer tell how long it's been, since that awful day in the boiler room of his father's ship.

—and just like that, the static is back. It's _everywhere_ , overwhelming in its capacity to weaken every limb, slow every thought to a screeching halt. But no, that's not right — for the static to be _back_ , it implies that the static was ever gone to begin with.

He tilts sideways, abruptly. Distantly, he can hear Akira crying out in alarm, and then there's pressure on his back and shoulders.

"Stay with me, okay?" says Akira, his voice shaking, and Goro wants to tell him that he _can't_. He can't, no matter what — no matter how much he wants to — but everything is swirling, and the status is everywhere, and he _can't do this anymore_.

(And distantly, he wonders: was that man dressed all in white, with glasses and dark hair slicked back, always there?)

* * *

—and then, abruptly, it stops. Everything is still as Goro blinks up, heavily, to his companions' faces hovering anxiously above him. It's Akira that's the closest — it's him that's responsible for the pressure against Goro's back and shoulders, holding him up off the floor. "Hey," he says, softly. "You back with us?"

Goro blinks once, twice, and registers the quiet, disjointed stillness of a Palace safe room. He thinks back to minutes, hours ago, and the answer comes as easily as if it had been fed to him: Byakhee's Bloodbath, that he should have been able to shrug off easily enough, had it not come with an abrupt wave of cold _fear_.

It makes logical sense: they were in the Palace. They advanced, advanced, advanced, and it was expected because this was how they always did it. Something went wrong in a fight with some Shadows — Goro was hurt, afflicted with a status ailment, and all of that is _normal_.

... but that can't be right, can it? Whatever it was that had happened, Goro hadn't been _afraid_ — not significantly more so than the situation would have warranted. If he had to take a guess, it felt a lot more like confusion — but it was Byakhee they'd faced, wasn't it? Was Byakhee capable of confusing them?

"I'm fine," he croaks, and braces himself against Akira to slowly lever himself upright.

"Uh..." says Skull. "Sure doesn't look like it, dude."

"But I used Diarahan and everything..." says Mona, despondent.

Akira's hand falls on the cat's head, rubbing his fur back in a slow, methodical rhythm. "Yes, and that was very helpful," he says.

"You're all overreacting," says Goro. "I'm _fine_."

"But I don't think it could hurt to rest, regardless," says Noir, with a lot more kindness than he deserves.

"Don't do that again, please," says Queen, a slightly hysterical edge to her voice that belies her deceptively calm words.

He chuckles weakly in response. "I'll do my best," he says, blandly.

Panther stretches her arms behind her. "I'm with Noir," she says. "I think I'm done for the day."

"We still have so much farther to go, though..." says Oracle.

"No, Panther's right," says Akira. "Let's break here."

"Really, we don't need to stop on my account," Goro protests, but it sounds weak even to him — and it's ultimately useless, when they leave the Palace then anyway.

He follows Akira to Leblanc — and it's cold in a way that autumn shouldn't be. Actually... now that he's paying attention, it feels a lot more like _winter_.

(Because it _is_ winter... isn't it?)

The bell chimes as Akira pushes open the door. A warm, hazy glow blankets everything in a dim, yet comforting light. It's tailor-made for him specifically, Goro realizes abruptly — everything about this place, all of the comfort it brings him distilled into one pure, untainted image. He thinks back to that man in his dreams, or maybe hallucinations — dressed all in white, with glasses and dark hair slicked back.

(He can't put a name to that man's face, but oh, does Goro hate him already.)

"Say..." says Goro. "How much do you know about the owner of the Palace?"

It takes Akira entirely too long to answer. "Hm?" he starts. "Oh... they're as awful as you'd expect, of course. They use and abuse the people around them."

—but for now, Akira walks behind the counter, and begins heating up coffee. "Going to inundate me with more pumpkin spice?" Goro asks.

"You have to ask?" Akira retorts, smirking just a little.

... Akira really has no idea, does he? So it stands to reason that there's little to do here, until he figures it out.

"What do you say I try my hand at it?" asks Goro, teasing a strand of hair that falls between his eyes. "So long as Boss won't filet me for it, of course." It should be easy enough — coffee, plus a spoonful of pumpkin purée, and some cinnamon, cloves, ginger, and nutmeg. All in roughly equal measure, and blended and strained. Perhaps a little extra sugar, since it's Akira.

... really, Akira has no business smiling like that. "As you wish, Detective Prince," he says, bowing dramatically before collapsing just as dramatically into one of the booths.

Goro allows himself one tiny smile, and steps behind the counter.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of the [21+ akeshuake discord server's Halloween event](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/21_plus_server_halloween_event/works). The prompt was: pumpkin spice latte, with the specification that Goro tries to make a coffee — but this was also a "trick" prompt, so everything is not as it seems. Hope you enjoyed the journey it took to get Goro to that point :D


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